


Goin' Down On South Park

by squickandpainful



Category: South Park
Genre: Humor, M/M, Weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6272794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squickandpainful/pseuds/squickandpainful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time I used a kink generator that randomly put together two characters and a kink. I made a list of several of the results and will share anything I write for them here. Requests can be cool, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goin' Down On South Park

Stan was just taking a shower. This was something that never required more than fifteen minutes. In fact, today he was in a hurry to meet Kyle, and the water ran for a record low of three minutes. Then he grabbed a towel.

The first thing he noticed was the quality of the fabric. It was a little stiff, and he didn’t relish the idea of applying it to his skin. But again: He was in a hurry.

The next thing he noticed was that it could talk.

“Did you forget your old friend, Towelie?”

“Oh, Jesus!” Stan hurled the talking towel across the bathroom. “What the fuck?”

“It’s me!” The towel took to—its feet? “Towelie!”

“What the fuck are you doing in my bathroom?”

“Well, you need a towel, don’t ya?”

“We have towels!”

Stan realized he was screaming in his bathroom when—

“Stan? Is everything _all right in there_?”

“Yeah, Mom. It’s just—towels.”

There was a pregnant silence from outside the door. Then Sharon’s footsteps faded down the hall.

“So where are they?”

Stan blinked. “What?”

“Where are your other towels?”

Stan looked around the bathroom.

“Dude, what did you do with them?”

Playing coy—or possibly just high—Towelie said, “I didn’t do nothin. I’ve got a family, you know. I ain’t got no use messin with other towels.”

“Whatever, dude.” Standing there, naked, Stan said, “All right, well … Get over here then.”

Towelie staggered across the tile floor, muttering to himself in his squeaky voice.

Stan grabbed the rough towel with both hands and started to dry his hair.

“Oh, so soft.”

“What was that?” Stan asked.

“Nothin, nothin.”

As Stan dried himself, being slow and gentle about rubbing Towelie on his skin so the roughness wouldn’t chafe it, he continued to hear low squeaks and moans. He groaned and scoffed.

“Don’t forget to dry your balls.”

Stan muttered under his breath. “Oh my god.”

He wanted to make it quick down there. However, with genitals being sensitive and the quality of the fibers in Towelie not being ideal for sensitive parts, he would have to force himself to be slow—as he dried his dick and balls with something sentient.

With reluctance he pressed Towelie up to his groin, bracing for a disgusting emission of sound from below. None came. Slowly, he started to rub dry. Then he felt intermittent bursts of increased pressure, as if Towelie were trying to grind against him. He pulled his hands apart so Towelie would be taut and have no wiggle room. This resulted in something like a scream. Following the scream there was a loud thud, which Stan surmised to be someone tripping over in the hall.

“What was that?” Stan asked the towel, referring to the noise it made.

The towel didn’t respond.

Amid a series of blubbery groans came the sound of Randy taking to his feet.

From outside the door came a call of “Staaan?”

Hanging his head in embarrassment already, Stan said, “Yeah, Dad?”

“Masturbation is perfectly normal and healthy. I wouldn’t want you to think that because I had that reaction there’s anything wrong, at all, with masturbation. It’s perfectly natural and—”

“ _Okay, Dad_.”

“Okay, Son.” There was a pause. “If you just tickle your—”

“ _Dad_.”

“Okay, okay! Sorry.

“I’m going now.

“Have a good orgasm, Son.”

Stan drew in a deep breath then gusted out a groan.

“What he said.”

Stan jolted, and with his feet still wet, he slipped and barely caught his balance. He had forgotten the towel he was using was a person.

“What?”

“You could use a good orgasm, Stan.”

“Dude, shut up. I’m not even—”

That was when Stan noticed his erection.

“Jesus, what the fuck.”

“You know how to make yourself cum, right, Stan? Have you ever masturbated before?”

“Dude. This is not happening.” Stan dropped Towelie then stepped out of the shower to grab his clothes.

“Where are they?”

“Hmmm?”

“My clothes. What did you do with them?”

“I’m so high right now. Oh, hi, Stan.”

“Dude, whatever.”

Stan grabbed Towelie again, wrapping him around his waist.

As Stan rushed to his room Towelie recommenced grinding against his groin. It did little but cause a small amount of friction, which to Stan’s chagrin was enough to maintain his erection. He became increasingly frustrated, and his breath came out harshly through his nose.

In his room, Stan once again discarded the towel. He pulled underwear out of a drawer and had one leg through a hole when he stopped. He looked down at Towelie. Towelie was just a blue bundle in the middle of his bedroom floor. Either Towelie was completely out of it, or Stan had been hallucinating. Either way, the towel probably couldn’t see him. He looked down at his erection.

Moving slowly and quietly, Stan climbed into his bed. Laying on his back, he grabbed his dick, still a little wet, and started masturbating. It was rough going, with the level of moisture, so several times he spat into his hand and rubbed his saliva all over his penis. He started up again, and as soon as he really got a rhythm going and it started to feel good he heard a moan that he was fairly certain came from a mouth that wasn’t his.

Stan covered himself with his bedding and sighed.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Stan,” said the towel regaining its feet. “I’ve seen loads of guys do that. Anyway, do you have any junk food or something?”

“Oh god,” Stan said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shut the fuck up, Towelie.”

“Ain’t ya gonna finish? You’ve had that boner for a while now. You don’t wanna risk getting blue balls. That’s pretty painful.”

“Is blue balls a real thing?”

“It sure is. I’ve seen it loads of times. You better hurry and cum, Stan. There’s trillions of little sperms swimming around in your testicles right now, and they need to get out.”

“Oh, Jesus, can you just—”

Stan stopped, looking at the glazed eyes that didn’t really seem to look back. He thought maybe they were, though, and he started to realize the idea they were, that he had an audience for something meant to be private, was turning him on.

He pulled the bedding away again and looked at his penis, thinking about being seen naked. Then again, Towelie was a towel—and not just any towel—so it wasn’t a big deal after all.

Stan went back to masturbating and was surprised by how quickly he was nearing climax now that he was letting himself be watched. He started to arch his back and grunt. Then it started to happen. Then it didn’t happen.

Towelie had, in the one moment during which Stan closed his eyes, thrown himself onto Stan’s dick and prevented his orgasm. Stan took Towelie in his hands and tried to detach him from his groin, but when he encountered resistance and only accomplished to squeeze the coarse cloth against his now particularly sensitive genital, he gave up on that course of action.

“Get the fuck off me.”

Maybe that would work.

“You’re definitely gonna get blue balls now.”

“I will tear you to pieces.”

Towelie, in a knot, squeezed tighter around Stan’s dick, causing Stan to holler in pain.

“What do you want?” Stan’s breathing was ragged. “Whatever, dude. Just let me finish.”

Towelie only, somehow, managed to pull himself into an even tighter knot. Stan groaned again. His dick was swelling up, veins bulging, and turning bright red. He grabbed it and tried to jack off, but there was no give. Worrying about the prospect of blue balls, he was near panic when Towelie finally answered.

“Just make sure you cum on me when you finish, Stan.” Towelie loosened the knot made of himself and pulled back a little. “That’s all.”

To his faintly registered surprise, this too turned him on—enough that his anger vanished.

He went at his dick again, pumping furiously with his hand, and getting there quickly.

“Oh yeah. Give it to Towelie. Give Towelie that salty nectar.”

“Dude.” Stan grimaced.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s it. You’re almost there. Almost there. Come on. Come on. Come on _me_.”

“Shut uhhhhh—”

Stan came more than he ever had in his life. Towelie was there to receive it. As the orgasm, and the blood, waned, he started to understand what Towelie had done.

Reluctantly, he took in the sight of the soaked towel. “Gross, dude.”

“I never thought I would miss that, but I did.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Do you think your dad might be masturbating right now? I think he probably is. I should go find out. He might need a towel.”

“Oh my god, Towelie, why do you exist?”


End file.
